In addition to writing "original" stories, I like creating scenes from the series that I would like to see, but that I know we never will see-or probably will never see. This happens a lot with Callen. So, this one-shot is my version to explain the final scene in "The Noble Maidens" and the conversation(s) that I wish we'd seen. Hope you enjoy it, and please share any comments. I love to read those.

The Conversations

The halls of the hospital were almost empty when Callen arrived. Hours had passed since he'd left Anna with Arkady and the EMTs. He and Sam had driven back to OSP and he'd told Sam to go home. He'd take care of the paperwork. After the stress of the past few days—accused of being a Russian asset, finding Anna with FSB agents, being told Katya was back, Joelle kidnapped and tortured, Anna giving herself up to save Joelle—Callen needed time to decompress and to think, and he did that best when he was alone. After completing the paperwork, he stretched out on his favorite couch. Callen propped his feet on an arm, tucked a loose pillow under his head, stared at the ceiling, and sighed. His life had started out screwed up, but did that mean it was always going to be screwed up? What did he have to do to get a life that had at least the semblance of being normal? Did he have to become a monk, a hermit, live completely isolated and alone? Callen closed his eyes and sighed again. He knew that wouldn't be living. He opened his eyes and thought about the past few days and asked himself: If his life was always going to be a fucking mess, was it fair to ask someone else to share it with him? Callen closed his eyes again and tried to take a deep breath, but he felt the chaos of his life crushing him. He couldn't relax and he definitely couldn't sleep. He willed himself to stay on the couch for almost ten more minutes until his mind and body revolted. He sat up and listened as he looked around. OSP was eerily quiet; only the skeleton night staff occupied the building with him now. They were here to work; he stayed because he didn't know where else to go, and he wasn't ready to go home yet. He knew he didn't want to talk tonight, at least not with Anna, because he didn't know what words might come out if he did. When he and Anna did talk—and they would, soon—Callen needed to know exactly what he'd say, he needed to know exactly what he wanted for himself, and exactly how he felt about her and about spending his life with her. But until they talked, Callen needed to think, and since he couldn't sleep, he grabbed his firearm and headed down to the firing range. He grabbed two boxes of ammo as he walked through the armory. He thought 100 rounds might be too much, but 50 probably wouldn't be enough. He had a lot of thinking to do.

Corey, one of the night staff members, wandered down to the firing range about forty minutes after Callen had headed down and stood watching as Callen emptied one 15-round magazine standing, crouching, rolling, and then, when it was empty, pulled a full magazine from his back pocket, reloaded it without missing a beat, and fired off another 15 rounds at three different targets while his body position changed in sync with the bullets. When that magazine was empty, Callen stood up, stepped forward, and took the three targets down; all had multiple gunshots to the heads, abdomens, limbs, and each had a few shots to the groin. Callen put his firearm in his thigh holster, picked up the ammo boxes, and walked past Corey standing outside. Callen looked up and said quietly, "I'm a little rusty," and then continued to the armory to clean his pistol and return the box of ammo that wasn't empty. Corey hurried back to his work station before Callen was out of sight.

When Corey arrived back in ops, he took his seat and after a few minutes of working silently on the computer, turned to the tech next to him and said in a voice that was almost inaudible, "I will never, ever, do anything to upset Agent Callen or any of the other agents who work here." His fellow tech looked at him with a puzzled expression, but Corey said nothing more and went back to work.

Callen returned one box of ammo and tossed the empty one and the targets and then took a seat and disassembled his SIG. He took his time because he was still thinking. After he'd finished cleaning his firearm twice, he reassembled it and headed back upstairs. When he got to the bullpen, Callen stood by his desk a moment and then grabbed his bag and headed out.

He drove to In-and-Out and ordered a Double-Double and coffee and sat in the parking lot and ate. When he'd finished, he tossed the wrapper and napkin and then walked back inside and refilled his coffee. As he pulled out of the parking lot, he found himself headed in the direction of the hospital, so he decided it wouldn't hurt to check and see how Joelle was doing before he headed home if that's where he decided to go.

The hospital was almost as quiet as OSP was when he left, but the quiet was welcome. He nodded to the nurse on duty as he walked past—she knew him from his earlier visit—and he slowed as he approached Joelle's room. As he reached the open door, Joelle's head turned toward him, and she asked, "Did you find Anna?"

Callen, surprised to find her awake, nodded and replied, "We did." He stepped inside and spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb the silence.

"Is she alright?"

"She seems to be."

Joelle's eyes scanned the covers that lay flat against the mattress where her other leg should be. "That's good." There was a pause and then Joelle turned back to face him, "But you didn't find Katya, did you?"

"No," Callen admitted as he pulled a chair to him and sat down, "we didn't." He paused before continuing, "We did apprehend one of the women working for her."

"And the other one? Did she get away?"

"No," Callen answered simply and without emotion.

"Good," Joelle said with a combination of bitterness and satisfaction she didn't try to disguise.

Sometimes Callen forgot how ruthless and cold Joelle could be because he still carried the memory of the kindergarten teacher he'd met on a blind dinner date several years ago in the back of his mind. But Joelle had never been that person and he knew that. It seemed none of the women he met were who they seemed to be, and it made him wonder if Anna was really the woman he thought she was, the woman he'd fallen in love with.

"I'm sorry." Joelle's words interrupted his thoughts. Callen looked up, confused.

"Sorry about what?" he asked.

"About everything," Joelle replied and her voice carried a regret he'd not heard before.

"That's taking personal responsibility to an extreme."

"I'm an extreme person."

"I'm not gonna argue with that," Callen replied without a hint of sarcasm.

Joelle shook her head and locked eyes with Callen, "I was the one who asked Anna to get close to Katya in prison as part of my plan to get Volkoff. Well, I got Volkoff, but I got a lot more," she said with anger as she glanced back to the bed and where her leg should be. "And not just me. I got two CIA officers killed and I almost got Anna killed." Her voice became almost inaudible, "I'm so sorry, Callen."

"You don't need to apologize, Jo."

"Well, now that I am, I also need to apologize for what happened between us."

There was a significant pause before Callen said anything. "That was a long time ago, Jo. You were just doing your job."

"I was, but I'm still sorry about all of it." She looked at him with such earnestness that Callen grew self-conscious and dropped his eyes and studied the floor. "I realized a few years ago that you were one of the reasons I didn't go back to my family."

Surprised, Callen lifted his eyes and stared at her. "I urged you to go back, Jo. I told you that you needed to give them a chance, needed to give them time."

"You did," she said, "but I didn't, for a lot of reasons." She hesitated and her eyes shifted to the view of the lights of the city out the window. "For one thing, I realized I wasn't in love with my husband."

"A career isn't a relationship," Callen replied, his voice heavy with personal experience. "I know."

"It wasn't my career I was in love with," Joelle said as she turned back to him. "It was another man."

Callen seemed surprised, "That happens sometimes. No use living a lie." As soon as he said it, he realized the irony in what he'd said and smiled slightly, but when Joelle continued looking at him, he understood who she'd fallen in love with. He didn't say anything—there wasn't anything to say—but his expression softened.

After several moments of silence, Joelle looked away and studied the machines next to her bed. "You love Anna, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"I do," Callen replied.

"But," Joelle said with a friendly, challenging tone as she looked at him, "you haven't told her you do, have you?"

Callen raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, his lips tight, "Actually no."

"Not surprising."

"Why do you say that?" Callen asked, a little peeved at her tone.

Joelle interrupted him, "You're good with a lot of things, but words not so much, and you're especially bad about putting your emotions into words. Not even when you're angry." She waited a moment but Callen didn't contradict her, so she explained, "Emotions are more real when you say them."

"When did you become a shrink?"

Joelle squinted as she studied him. "It doesn't take a shrink to understand you. It takes someone who understands your problem."

"Now I have a 'problem'?"

"We all have problems," Joelle replied with a smirk although her tone was serious.

Callen was quiet for a moment. "We do." Callen shifted and leaned forward a little, his eyes focused on the floor. "You might be right about my 'problem.' It's just that . . .," he paused and then looked at Joelle who was still watching him, "Sometimes, I'm not sure."

A whisper of a smile appeared on Joelle's face and her next words surprised him again. "I think you're sure, Callen, at least about how you feel about Anna." She paused. "If you're worried about Anna's feelings about you, you shouldn't be." He sat up a little straighter and that told Joelle that she'd hit the mark, but his expression told her that he wondered how she knew. Joelle tilted her head and looked at Callen with raised eyebrows, "We were together in Cuba for a lot of weeks, Callen, and your name came up more than once. Anna didn't talk about you much—she's a lot like you that way and she also knew my history with you, so it's not like we were going to be bffs and share our deepest thoughts and feelings—but what she did say and sometimes what she didn't say—made her feelings for you clear. But," she continued, "I'm guessing she probably hasn't told you how she feels about you, either." He studied the floor again, and Joelle sighed, "If you don't say or do something soon, you might not get the chance to, Callen . . . ever." Callen looked at her with raised eyebrows, and when she continued, her voice was calm, quiet, and no-nonsense, "Nothing in this world is guaranteed, Callen, but that doesn't mean we stop taking chances." She paused. "Even in our personal lives." She continued, "Sometimes things work out the way we want them to, and sometimes they don't. Life's a crapshoot, but if you never roll the dice, the house always wins."

Callen leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Neither of them spoke for several moments, but when Callen didn't speak, Joelle finally broke the silence. "What's really bothering you, Callen?"

Callen's eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling. "I wonder if we ever really know anyone."

Now Joelle gave him a smirk. "You're upset because you didn't know Anna was a 'noble maiden'."

"You knew?" Callen asked.

"Anna told me after I got in touch with her and told her that Katya had reached out to us about wanting to defect." Joelle had Callen's complete attention. "Anna wanted me to know everything about Katya, to know that she couldn't be trusted, so she told me about Katya's training as a noble maiden. When I asked Anna how she knew about that, she told me—reluctantly and confidentially—that she knew because she'd gone through the same training." She hesitated and before Callen say anything, she added, "And she asked me not to tell you."

"Still keeping secrets, Jo," Callen said without emotion.

"When I need to," she admitted without any sense of guilt. "She wanted to be the one to tell you."

"Well, she didn't."

"Maybe she didn't have the chance."

Now, he was a little exasperated, "We lived together for over a year."

"And in that time, did you tell her you loved her?" This brought Callen up short, but Joelle just looked at him and shook her head slowly. "If Anna had told you about being a noble maiden, Callen, how would you have reacted? Honestly."

Callen thought for a moment, and then answered, "Honestly, I don't know." He thought a bit more, "I probably wouldn't have cared."

"Then why do you care now?"

"Because she should have told me."

"If you don't care about her training, why do you care about her telling you?"

"It's about trust."

Joelle cocked her head and looked at him, her expression one of disbelief. "You don't trust a woman who risked her life and went into exile to try and find your father because she didn't tell you where she went to school when she was five?"

"It's not that," Callen replied, but he didn't sound convinced by his own words.

"It's not?"

Joelle's questions made Callen think. He knew in his soul that he trusted Anna. He thought back on the years he'd known her, on the year they'd lived together, and when he thought about how he'd acted toward her after he found her at the cabin, he was disappointed in himself. Nothing in the way he'd acted was like him. He'd been unwilling to listen to Anna because he felt betrayed again and felt hurt by someone he never thought would hurt him. But after she'd been taken, when he was desperately searching for her, he knew she hadn't betrayed him or hurt him. She'd tried to protect him. Maybe she'd made mistakes in doing it, but the mistakes didn't change her reason for doing what she did. He'd made plenty of mistakes when she needed him. When Anna left the car to take Joelle's place, he let her leave without saying anything, not even goodbye. And then she was gone and he realized he might never see her again. And he almost lost his mind. Their relationship wasn't perfect, but he loved Anna more than he had ever loved any woman in his life. If his love for Anna couldn't break down the wall he kept building around himself, he wondered if anything could. Maybe he was destined to live a life always alone. His shoulders sagged with weariness and he closed his eyes.

Joelle's voice was soft and just a little sad, "I know you have a hard time trusting people, Callen, especially women, and what happened between us didn't help, and I'm sorry about that. But thinking you can't trust someone because of what happened thirty years ago doesn't make sense, and you know it. You've got to get out of the way of your own happiness, Callen. Trust Anna and trust yourself. If it's not meant to be, you won't lose anything by taking a chance." Joelle waited for a response but none came. She leaned her body toward Callen and saw that he had fallen asleep. He was exhausted. She thought about waking him up but stopped. Anna was probably asleep by now, as well, so why not let them both get some rest? They could talk in the morning. As Joelle settled down to get some sleep, she was glad that Callen had stopped by. It had given her the chance to say things that needed to be said and to remind herself that he had moved on. And she hoped that she might have spurred him to take a chance and find some happiness. He deserved it. Joelle looked at Callen with affection and then adjusted her head on the pillow, shifted slightly in her bed, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

XXXXXXX

Arkady insisted on coming inside with Anna and she didn't argue. She was too tired.

"What do you need, Anna?"

Anna found his fatherly concern sweet even though somewhat smothering, but she didn't push him away. He didn't have a lot of experience being a father or her a daughter, and the lives they'd both led hadn't make things easier for either of them because, until now, they'd never had the time. Both were still learning what was expected from each other in their respective roles.

"I need a shower," Anna replied honestly. She made her way to the bed and removed her jacket which seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. Arkady followed behind but kept a respectable distance.

"I have nicer showers," he said. Anna dropped her jacket on the bed and looked at her father, a smile on her face.

"That's true, but this," she said, pointing to the bathroom, "is my shower." She sat on the edge of the bed and began to remove her shoes.

Arkady looked around the apartment in silence. "This place is so . . ."

"Arkady," and the warning in her voice was clear. Arkady put his hands up in surrender as he moved a little closer. He watched his daughter and thought how grateful Callen should be that he rescued her; otherwise, he would be dead. When Anna's shoes were off, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. A tear make a track down her cheek and Arkady moved closer.

"What's wrong, Anna? Are you hurt?" his concern audible.

A smile spread slowly across her face. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong."

All was quiet for several minutes as Anna embraced her freedom and being back home again. She had been gone months, but in some ways, those months seemed longer than her exile in Cuba.

"You like Callen, Anna?"

Anna opened her eyes and gazed up at the ceiling before she sat up and looked at her father standing near her. She had always been one to speak her mind, and she did now. "I do."

"A lot?"

Anna didn't hesitate, "A lot."

Arkady shrugged. "That's okay. He is good man, I think. But," Arkady hesitated, searching for the right words, "he is hard to know." Anna said nothing because she agreed, but she waited for Arkady to continue. He struggled to say what he wanted to say, afraid of saying something wrong, but he was her father and he loved her. "I want you to be happy, Anna, and I want whatever you want. But . . ."

"Stop." Anna's voice was subdued but sharp. "No 'buts,' Arkady. I am happy, and if sometime later I'm not happy, I'll deal with it."

"If Callen makes you unhappy," Arkady said simply, "I deal with him."

This brought Anna to her feet. "No, you won't."

"I deal with anyone who hurts you, Anna."

"Callen would never hurt me."

"He let Katya take you," Arkady replied angrily.

"I let Katya take me. That was my decision."

"He should have kept you safe."

"I wasn't hurt."

"You could have been."

"But I wasn't hurt because he found me."

The room suddenly became quiet and Anna realized that she was standing only a few inches in front of Arkady who reached out now and gently brushed her hair aside. "As long as you are happy and safe, I am happy, Anna."

She reached up and gave him a peck on his cheek.

"He is good lover?" Arkady asked, and Anna shook her head. She knew Arkady was no longer worried about her safety; now, he was worried about her sex life. And he was probably curious about Callen's ability in bed because some men liked to compare themselves to others in every situation.

"Good lover keeps partner happy," Arkady explained with a shrug.

"He keeps me happy," Anna replied and Arkady nodded, satisfied if she was.

"Of course. He's part Russian, and Russians make good lovers," he stated, holding up his hands as though acknowledging the obvious connection between nationality and lovemaking. Anna sighed and headed to the bathroom. Arkady was who he was—a charming pain in the neck. "You need something, call," Arkady told her as she disappeared into the bathroom. After the door closed behind her, Arkady took one more look around the apartment and muttered to himself, "Worse than Sevastopol apartment." When he heard the water in the bathroom and was satisfied that Anna would be alright, he left the apartment, locking the door behind him.

XXXXXXX

The sound of the siren outside startled Anna from her sleep. She fumbled for her phone next to her on the bed; 2:30 am. She raised herself onto one elbow and looked around the darkened apartment. She was alone. She struggled up, still groggy, and walked over to the window and looked out onto the dimly lit streets below. The loose fitting tank top and the boy boxers she wore were barely illumined by the street lights. Callen hadn't come home, and now she worried about what that meant for her, for them. Anna walked back to the bed and picked up her phone. There were no missed calls or texts. She looked at the phone and pressed the phone icon. Callen's name was the first name on her "Favorites" list. She pressed his name and then pressed the red button ending the call before the first ring. She tossed her phone down on the bed, sat down next to it, and then fell backwards, closed her eyes, and sighed. What a mess it all was now.

XXXXXXX

Callen woke before the sun rose and wondered where he was for a moment, but the sight of the hospital bed reminded him. He stood up quietly, stiff from spending hours slouched in the chair. He stretched and arched his back to work out the kinks and glanced over at Joelle. She was still asleep and Callen didn't wake her. He left the hospital room as quietly as he had entered hours before, but now more certain about his feelings and what he needed to do.

XXXXXXX

Callen came through the front door and closed it noiselessly behind him. He set his bag down and then walked across the room without making a sound and stood next to the bed. Anna, in her tank top and boxers with her phone beside her, lay sleeping on top of the coverlet. Strands of hair lay across her face, and Callen reached down and gently brushed them aside. He continued to watch her for a moment and then took a deep breath and sat down beside her on the bed. The mattress flexed slightly, but it was enough to wake Anna. Her eyes opened and focused on Callen.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered.

"It's alright," she mumbled. He waited as Anna pushed more of her hair aside and sat up. She glanced down at her garments self-consciously.

"Can we talk?" Callen asked quietly.

Anna made eye contact briefly and then broke it and nodded, "Of course."

Callen stood up and faced her. He reached out to her and taking hold of both her hands, he pulled her up gently until she was standing in front of him. He felt the urge to kiss her, but instead he led her to the sofa. She sat down first, still a little groggy, her eyes shifting from his face to his hands to her sleepwear to the floor and back again. He sat next to her and shifted slightly so that he faced her. A minute passed before he spoke.

"Words don't come easy to either of us." Callen paused. "You're better with words than I am, but I'm really terrible, so although you're better, you're not very good." Anna was going to respond with a witty quip, but his voice and his expression were without a hint of humor, so she simply listened. He seemed to be talking to himself as much as to her. "I need to be better at saying what I think, what I feel, what I want, especially to the people who are important to me." Still, Anna said nothing, unsure and a little afraid of where this conversation was going. Callen looked at her and then seemed to change the subject, "Both of us have made mistakes in this relationship. I've made more." He paused for a moment before continuing, "I understand why you did what you did about Katya, but you were wrong to do it." She had never seen Callen measure his words so carefully. "And what you said about me doing the same thing if our positions had been reversed was probably true, and I would have been wrong if I had done it." He hesitated again and then looked directly into her eyes, "And although I understand why you didn't tell me everything about your past, I wish you had."

"Callen," she began, but Callen shook his head slightly and put up a hand, so she stopped and let him continue.

"People, people I've trusted the most, have lied to me and kept things from me my whole life to 'protect' me. I don't want—or need—that kind of 'protection,' Anna." His voice cracked and he licked his lips. "I don't want anyone to 'protect' me; I want to be trusted, trusted with anything and everything by the people I trust." He paused and took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "And I need to be trusted with the truth even if the truth might hurt me." Anna closed her eyes as she felt tears begin to form. "And I need to know that I can trust the person I love with anything and everything, including the truth. Because people who love each other trust each other and are honest with each other, even when the truth hurts."

Anna knew the truth she was about to hear would hurt. She knew the words, "And I don't trust you" were coming, and she squeezed her eyelids to stop the tears.

Callen reached out and wiped a tear that rolled down Anna's cheek away. "I trust you with anything and everything, Anna," he said softly, "but I need to know that you trust me enough to be honest with me." He paused again and bit his lip. "I need to know because I love you and. . ." He couldn't finish the sentence.

Those were not the words Anna expected to hear. She opened her eyes and the tears that rolled down now weren't tears of sorrow. She had expected to lose everything she wanted, everything she hoped for, and instead everything was hers. "I trust you, Callen. I've trusted you since Russia when we rescued Arkady." Her voice was raw with emotion. "And I'm sorry that I wasn't honest about Santa Cruz. I should have told you, and I should have told you about Katya and Maxim and the noble maidens . . ."

Anna would have continued her apology, but her lips were covered by Callen's as he pulled her to him and kissed her as though he hadn't kissed her in months—because he hadn't.